


Lightweight

by Siriusfanatic



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, I just needed more Remy/Hank ok?, M/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Rare Pairings, here you go internet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: Hank gets stood up for a date, and finds himself having a chance encounter with a mysterious Cajun thief instead.





	

 

 

                Another fifteen minutes, he thought, glancing once more at his watch and then again at the gilded time piece upon the lobby wall. Surely something had come up; being a journalist that seemed highly likely. But Hank’s date hadn’t even bothered to send him a message, or call to say as much.

                He shifted nervously and busied himself admiring the architecture again, reading the list of up-coming performances and of course the playbill for tonight’s feature, which he had been looking forward to for weeks.

                It wasn’t often Hank McCoy was able to treat himself to a night like this. Dinner, the theater, a lovely stroll through the park later…

                Was it a bit over the top? Of course it was. Especially so early in the relationship. He’d only been seeing the journalist, whose name was Trish, for about three weeks now, and they had only had maybe five dates during that time.

                But it was _something._

                And it was the first relationship he’d had since…

                He glanced down at his thick blue hands, to the broad, paw-like pads of his fingers and the claw-like nails. Even a tuxedo couldn’t hide his mutation. In fact, it probably only exaggerated the oddity of it. A man covered in blue fur, with a face that more closely resembled that of a large, predatorily cat than a man, wearing an expensive and custom-made tuxedo, waiting alone in the lobby of the New York opera house…

                It was a preposterous sight. And Hank knew it.

                His phone buzzed then and he grabbed it with a swell of hopefulness. Surely this would be her, apologizing for her lateness, insisting she was on her way…

                Hank’s heart fell the moment he glanced at the screen.

                The message was short and simple, though not at all what he had been expecting.

                _I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work. You’re so sweet, Hank, but…you are what you are. And I can’t. I just can’t. They’re accusing me of bestiality! I’m sorry, but I can’t. It’s not your fault. Goodbye._

 

                McCoy stared at his phone for several long seconds, feeling his jaw clench and his guts clench even tighter. It hurt, more than he expected it to. He felt that sharp stab of rejection in his heart, and the little whisper in his head that said bluntly and smugly; I told you so.

                Shock was the one thing that eluded him in that moment of descending turmoil. She had been a beautiful woman with plenty of prospects, a high profile career, and obviously, a deep insecurity in regards to the opinions of others.

                He tucked his phone away and turned, somewhat numbly, back up the stairs towards his seat. He really, really shouldn’t have expected anything different. After all, his previous dates with Trish had all been secretively, secluded, under the radar. This was a far more public outing. Cold feet would have been the natural response to someone…who wasn’t really ready to take on the challenges of dating a Mutant.

                His anxiety made him fidget, fussing with his cuffs and his collar, looking at the floor instead of where he was going. Really, he thought, he deserved this. What had he been thinking? Dating, romance…it was never going to be in the cards for Dr. Hank McCoy.

                Suddenly a body stumbled against his, the pair knocking shoulders. Though, knocking shoulders with Beast was more like crashing into one of those large, weighted punching bags. The other person let out an “oof!” of surprise and fumbled briefly on his feet.

                Hank made to reach for him in surprise, but the other man caught himself nimbly, like a cat righting an awkward misstep.  “Pardon, I didn’t see you dere, M’sieur.”

                McCoy was caught by the distinct and somewhat out of place Cajun French accent—not a thing he was accustomed to hearing among the many New York dialects—while the man in question seemed to be caught by Hank’s own uniqueness.

                “Apologizes,” the blue furred man said quickly, “I think that we were both in a bit of a rush. I hope you’re not hurt.”

                The other man was long and lean, with a head of auburn hair that was a bit longer than he would have expected. He was clean shaven, except for what looked like a stubborn bit of stubble around the chin and jaw. He wore a sleek black suit with a dark plum colored shirt and matching black tie, there were diamonds on his cufflinks. But the most striking thing about the stranger, was also the most obvious.

                The man had eyes that rivaled the deadly, seductive glare of a classic vampire, bright blood red pupils swimming in pools of black. Hank tried to remember what the condition for such anomaly was called.

                The stranger smiled at him with a wide smirk, looking him head to toe. “My, dey do breed you big up North here don’t dey?” he chuckled.

                McCoy flushed faintly under his fur. “Actually I’m from out west a little ways. Illinois to be precise.”

                “I see,” said the other. It seemed wherever he had been going in such a rush, was suddenly much less important as he stood there, taking stock of the Doctor. Yet his gaze did not feel probing or scrutinizing, or ill-intended in any way. “I’m not from round dese parts either, in case you couldn’t guess.” He grinned. He held out his hand for Hank to shake, and McCoy took it automatically.

                “We outsiders should stick together, non? Remy LeBeau is my name, pleasure to meet you.”

                “Dr. Henry McCoy. A pleasure as well, Mr. LeBeau.”

                The lights above them dimmed, and Remy sighed, folding his hands, “Ah, seems de show is about to start. I’d better leave you to it, Doctor. I’m sure it promises to be an exciting performance.”

                He gave a little wave and then started down the hall again, but Hank called to him, noticing that he was heading towards the lobby. “Are you not attending the performance?”

                “Non,” Remy replied, “I’m afraid dat my companion for de evening and I had a bit of a falling out.” He shrugged his shoulders. “C’est le vie.”

                “Well, it appears to be a bit of serendipity that brings us together in this corridor, my friend. I find myself with an extra box seat…would you care to join me?”

                Remy paused for a moment, considering and then nodded. “Well, since you put it dat way, M’sieur, how can I resist? I’ve always been a loyal servant of luck and chance.”

 

                Hank felt a little rush of adrenaline as he escorted his newfound companion towards the box, not sure exactly what had prompted him to be so impulsive in that moment. But his momentary lapse in caution seemed far from over.

                They didn’t speak as the performance began, but Hank found himself constantly glancing over at his new companion, taking in the little details and feeling an irresistible pull of curiosity and attraction towards him. Moreover, it was an absolute wonder to the doctor, that the stranger was not preoccupied with Hank’s own curious appearance as most were. In fact, he seemed perfectly at ease in his company. And that was something he didn’t experience often, even in the company of other mutants.

                The performance turned out to be mediocre at best, and the two strangers seemed to agree that their evening would be better spent in a place where they might converse openly and learn a little bit about each other.

                They left the show early and took a cab, both agreeing that a late dinner was just the thing. Hank found himself engaged a cheerful struggle over which restaurant to choose; it seemed this wasn’t Remy’s first trip to The Big Apple. Whatever venue McCoy chose, the Cajun seemed to have another to counter it with, with a preference to this and that and what have you.

                Hank enjoyed the banter; it wasn’t often anyone was really willing to argue his opinion about such things. Most were too intimidated by his tastes and his intellect…they thought arguing with him would be like arguing with Einstein. Which wasn’t true. Unless of course, it came to discussing certain scientific theories in regards to genetics, the theory of interdimensional travel and a few other generally far-reaching scientific studies.

                But Remy didn’t seem to mind, in fact he seemed genuinely delighted to hear Hank talk about anything at all, smiling and watching him with those exotic eyes. Remy had finally talked him into eating a small, third-generation owned pizza joint, and the two had taken a cozy window booth, cutting quite a figure in their expensive suits, attempting to eat the large, cheese laden slices without making a mess of themselves.

                “Hope ya don’t mind de casual choice in dinner fare,” Remy said, after taking another bite and catching the dangling strings of melting cheese as it attempted to drip onto the table with a faint chuckle, “but I always find dat it’s de good ol’ fashioned comfort foods dat satisfy de most.”

                “I suppose I would have to agree with you,” Hank added with a grin. “And I humbly admit, it is a nice change. Normally an evening out requires a bit more…showmanship on my part.”

                “Oh? Why’s dat? You de whining-n’-dinin’ kind, mon ami?”

                The smirk never left his face, but as Hank’s own features tightened slightly in defense, he noted a change in Remy’s as well, as if he had picked up on the faint shift in mood even before Hank had fully perceived it.

                “I suppose it’s expected of me. After all, I am asking a great deal.”

                “How so?”

                Hank smiled ruefully, “You wouldn’t understand. I’m sure a dashing young man like yourself has never had to worry about trying to convince someone to be seen with you in public.” He looked down self-consciously at the table. “There is of course, some novelty factor that often perks an interest but it’s fleeting at best. People, I’m afraid, still have a hard enough time accepting the reality of Mutant presence in their communities…but someone like me…” He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Let’s just say it’s often more than the average person is willing to take on at a whim.”

                Remy shrugged his shoulders, “Deir loss, mon ami,” he replied, resolutely and with a sort of blunt positivity that made Hank blink. “You, are a fascinating man. Wonderful company, and I can attest to dat first hand, even after only a few hours. You shouldn’t have to _bribe_ someone to get them to spend time with you, Hank. Anyone who t’inks you _owe_ dem something simply to tolerate you…dey’re shit. And ain’t nothin’ you can do w’it shit, ‘scept get rid of it.”  He paused and added, “Pardon my French.”

                Hank laughed, unable to stifle the sound. It was loud and deep, the sort of laugh that made everyone in the room turn to look at the source. He removed his glasses, and wiped at the tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes. “Oh—oh my…that was…wow, I needed that!”

                “Could tell.”

                Hank felt long fingers brush over his thick clawed ones on the table, and blinked down into those strange and wild eyes again and felt himself struck momentarily dumb.

                Something strange happened then, something Hank couldn’t quite make sense of in the moment. He felt a strange, warm, unconscious connection with the man across from him. His anxiety eased, his thoughts ceased to race. There was no rush, no hurry, and no need to be at the top of his game to please. There was no one to impress. He could breathe, he could smile and laugh. He could be Hank.

                Remy gripped his hand a little more firmly and then pulled back, gathering up his napkins and pushing their empty plates together. “T’ink we can savor de rest of dis some place more private. I have a room waiting, just a few blocks away. Would you--?”

                “Yes.” Hank said, perhaps a little too ardently. “I would love to.”

                It was Remy’s turn to blush.

               

**

 

                The hotel room was dark as Remy opened the door for the two of them, and for a moment, Hank felt a little pang of hesitation. He had never done anything this impetuous before…he hadn’t even given a moments thought to the idea that this could be—in fact—some sort of ruse or trap.

                But his feral senses weren’t picking up on any sort of signals that would give him true cause to believe so—his companion gave no hint of nervousness, or fear, things his scent and body language would easily give away to a feral creature like McCoy. His pulse had quickened as they approached the room, but then again, so had Hank’s.  There was a mutual anticipation between them now, and as Remy stepped through the threshold, he reached back and took Hank’s hand in his, pulling him along.

                “Sudden case of cold feet?” he purred, reaching for the lamp on the desk, filling the room with warm, yellow light. Hank’s eyes scanned the small space for a moment, but quickly determined between sight and smell that there was no one present but he and the Cajun.

                “No,” McCoy answered, “forgive me. Opportunities like this don’t often come along. I suppose I’m in a bit of shock.”

                Remy chuckled, dropped the door key on the desk, kicked off his shoes, and shrugged out of his suit jacket, laying it on the back of the chair by the large window that overlooked the court yard below. He stood there with his back to Beast, undoing his tie and staring out the window.

                Hank could pick up on the growing smell of arousal coming from the other man, and it was deeply irresistible, an insatiable pull he had to submit to. He slipped fully inside the room then, closing the door quietly behind him.

                Remy didn’t move from the window, but Hank saw him lay his tie on top of his jacket as he moved forward, stalking towards him with almost predator-like calculation. He saw a faint shiver in the other man’s skin, scented a small spike of sour nervousness that briefly altered his smell. Hank slowed his approach as he came to stand behind him and put his arms around him cautiously, but firmly. Remy gasped a little in that embrace…perhaps he hadn’t expected the other man to be so strong. Or maybe he was having second thoughts.

                Hank nuzzled the back of his neck and emitted a soft purr, giving the man a moment to relax before continuing. The Cajun sunk back against him, letting McCoy support him as they stood, and reached a hand up to scratch the thick tuft of fur at the edge of his jaw, moving down his neck and then reaching back further to play at the thicker tufts of hair.

                The vibrating rumbling within Hank’s throat grew deeper, the feeling of his companion’s hands sending another ripple of excitement through him. Still he held back, keeping his own hand movements above the waist, letting his clawed fingers pop open the buttons on Remy’s silk shirt before sliding inside to touch bare skin.

                Remy gave another little shiver again, feeling Hank’s tongue on his neck and shoulder and the faint scrape of fang-like teeth there. McCoy paused nervously, “Too fast? Should I stop?”

                Another mischievous chuckle and the auburn haired man twisted around to face him, grabbing McCoy by the front of his own shirt and tugging him in close. “Too fast, mon cher? Oh non. Not fast enough.”

                He leaned up and kissed Hank hard and flush on the lips, causing a muffled little gasp from the Beast. Remy pressed himself up against him, warm and insistent and Hank gave in immediately, opening his mouth to kiss him deeper.

                His partner was not at all afraid of his fangs, or the slight leathery feel of his lips. The Cajun’s hands had him out of his jacket, tie and shirt in such deft, slick movements that Hank almost didn’t notice. He was too preoccupied with the heated kiss in which he was entangled, and the warm feeling  of naked skin, and a body guiding his onto the edge of the bed, pushing him down.

                Without barely breaking contact, Remy managed to straddle the much larger Mutant, pushing Hank back against the mattress so that he could look at him better. From this vantage point, Hank had no trouble seeing (or feeling) his partner’s arousal, straining against the sleek black fabric of his suit pants as he straddled Hank’s thighs.

                McCoy moaned softly, running his big hands up his legs and brushing over the bulge between, making Remy emit a little purr of his own before reaching to undo the man’s belt. “Such big hands you have, mon ami…” LeBeau grinned, face flushed with excitement as Hank unzipped him and reached between the opening of the fabric to touch him more directly. His underwear was thin and tight, leaving little to the imagination. He gasped when the man took him fully in his hand and stroked him lightly, feeling a throb and rush of blood.

                “They might be a bit rough against your skin,” Hank mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

                “Hush,” he leaned down and kissed Hank again, moving forward enough to do so that the curve of his ass brushed along Hank’s own straining erection, still smothered inside his tuxedo. McCoy gave a deep, animalistic groan, hips jolting up lightly at the contact.

                He hadn’t realized how starved for this he was, or how much he had missed physical contact, and lurid carnal abandon of it all. He wanted to turn the man over on all fours and fuck him hard, to hear him moan and rasp and cry his name. Things he fantasied about in those lonely, deep hours of the night when he could no longer focus on work.

                Remy smiled against his lips and brushed himself against Hank again, more purposefully this time, making the man below him mewl with want, squeezing Remy’s hips in an effort to get him to settle there on top of him to maintain the friction.

                “Ah ah,” the nymph of a man teased, kissing his nose, “don’t t’ink you want to be ruinin’ dese pants wit de mess. Let’s unwrap you, cher.”

                Hank didn’t know why this idea made him gulp or shake with faint anxiety, but it did. Still he forced himself to be still as Remy did exactly as promised, unwrapping him like some impeccably packaged gift.

                He wondered if upon seeing him completely bare if his opinion would change. After all, it was one thing for McCoy to put on a suit and do his best to pretend he was just like everyone else. That maybe the fur and the fangs and the beastly hands and feet were just…quirks.

                But when he was shed of all his affects he was brutally confronted with how much his mutation had altered him. Once he had heard the experience of seeing him naked compared to that of a Big Foot sighting.

                Hank suddenly flushed with embarrassment and covered his face with his hands. “Remy, wait—“

                “Mon Dieu…!”

                Hank grit his teeth. It was too late.

                His chest was tight, he didn’t know if he could bare to look down and see the expression on his would-be lover’s face. What would he find there? Horror? Disgust? A sort of grotesque fascination?

                Remy’s fingers glided lightly down his stomach, across his naval and down until they reached the thicker tufts of hair surrounding his shaft, which they coiled around hesitantly. Hank bit back a sob of desire, it felt so good to be touched there, especially by someone else.

                His golden eyes chanced a nervous glance towards his lover’s face, only to find Remy eyeing him with a sort of adoring, fascinated awe. The red and black eyes found his and his smile softened, “Don’t be shy, cher. Startled me a bit, ‘sall.” He squeezed him lightly, moving his palm and fingers up and down his cock. “Knew you were big but...didn’t know if you’d be big all over.”

                Hank let out a nervous chortle, moving his hands back down from his face to rest on Remy’s thighs. “I-is that all? You’re not…I know it’s not quite what you must be used to…”

                “Exactly.” The other man replied. “I like different. I like new t’ings…and I really, really like you.”

                 Remy leaned over to kiss him again, one hand steadied on the bed, the other still gripped firmly around Hank’s cock, stroking and squeezing. McCoy purred against the Cajun’s mouth, enjoying that the other man didn’t seem to be in a rush to get things over with, and that he appeared to be comfortable to take time to explore and tease.

                He allowed the long, lean man to do just that, moving his kisses gradually downward until, to Hank’s shock and delight he was between his thighs, licking and sucking, keeping one hand firmly around him in a tight ring that moved up and down in a steady but increasing pace.

                Beast twitched and growled, feeling himself edging closer to climax under Remy’s dedicated hands. He wanted to cum desperately, but he didn’t want it to be over yet. Twisting in the sheets he looked down through faintly fogged glasses to catch a glimpse of Remy’s face as the man came up for a breath, wet lips and flushed cheeks and bright eyes, hair hanging in his face.

                Hank nearly lost it right then and there, and with a grunt he caught the man by the back of the neck, sat up and pulled him into a demanding kiss. The other was quick to adapt, allowing Hank to take the lead, to pull and guide him, to let his big clawed hands yank him free of his remaining clothes so that he was as naked and exposed as his partner.

                Hank lifted Remy into his lap, the two of them rocking together, Hank’s thick hand wrapped fast around them both, creating almost painful heat and friction. Remy groaned and sighed, unashamed to make noise or to look Hank in the eye as he rolled his hips into it.

                “Feels good,” the Cajun purred, sweat starting to appear on his neck and forehead, “but I’m not ready yet, cher…and you so close…”

                Hank slowed his hand movements, though it felt like torture to do so. Remy was right, he was on the verge of orgasm, even the lack of touch was almost enough to make him spill, and he throbbed painfully at the loss.

                He let Remy wrap his long fingers around him again and take up the pace alone, quicker and more sure this time. Hank shuddered and moaned, letting his hands fall to the man’s hips and moving back, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass as he jerked against him before gasping loudly as orgasm made him double over.

                Remy grinned and caught him, letting the man’s face fall against his shoulder as he shuddered and huffed for breath, coating his hand with the hot sticky aftermath. His lover sighed with satisfaction and kissed his cheek and the delicate little arch of his ear before dropping his hand, wiping the mess on the bedspread that was quickly pushed to the floor.

                It took Hank a long moment to collect himself, seeing little white dots blink behind his eye lids. He felt heavy and sated, sore and tingly in the good way. He’d neglected this need for much too long.

                His partner didn’t rush him, despite still being hard himself, and appeared to be content to nuzzle and cuddle him, enjoying the moment of calm. “Seems to me like you needed dat, cher.” He chuckled.

                “You have no idea,” Hank replied with a bit of raspy laughter of his own. He lifted his head at last and kissed the smaller man again. “Thank you.”

                Remy nodded and kissed him again. And then, to Hank’s surprise, the man made to move free of him, sliding to the edge of the bed and looking for his pants. Hank blinked, suddenly nervous. “Is something wrong?”

                “Non, mon cher,” Remy answered, glancing back at him. “But you looked tired now. Thought I’d better let you rest…”

                “There’s no rush. Please, stay.”

                He reached out and put his hand on Remy’s arm for a moment, almost as though to catch him and hold him back. But the awkwardness of that got the better of him and he let go quickly, looking at the man pleadingly. He should have known there would be a catch.

                “You want me to stay?”

                “Yes!” Hank answered, a little too fervently. He flushed with embarrassment but shook it off. “Yes, Remy, of course! I hope you don’t think…that you weren’t under the impression that this was just some ploy to get you into my bed tonight. I didn’t expect to end up here, but now that we are…” He felt like a fool tripping over his words. “I suppose I’m not quite ready to end this evening.”

                The auburn haired man smiled, setting the clothes aside and returning to the bed beside him. He studied Hank for a moment, as if sensing something. For a moment McCoy wondered if the man’s powers included telepathy. He had often seen Charles Xavier with that same sort of intense, pensive glance as he looked into someone’s mind.

                “I’ll stay cher, so long as you want me.”

                Hank put his arms around him and laid him back in the blankets, devouring his skin with more eager, hungry kisses and covetous touches. Much of Hank’s reserve was gone now, and the confidence he’d gained during their first round seemed to make all the difference. He wasn’t afraid to grip a bit harder, to let his fangs scrape lightly over heated, flushed skin, or growl and command while at the same time praising his lover for being so patient with him.

                Remy was the one worked up this time, enjoying the switch up, pink in the face and gasping as Hank stroked and teased him, getting him achingly close to orgasm without quiet letting him fall over the edge. Each time he stopped just before reaching the threshold, Remy would whine and whimper and Hank would kiss him.

                “Mmmm…mon dieu…I think there’s a bit of sadist in you, Hank, letting a man suffer dis way…” Remy rasped, trying to make Hank grip him more directly, to move faster, but the larger man was busy licking down his chest, moving his hand from Remy’s cock, up along his shivering thigh and back down again.

                “On the contrary,” McCoy answered, “the longer the build up, the more rewarding the release.”

                Remy moaned and arched on the bed, lifting his hips against Hank’s hands, “Sil vous plait…I need you Hank, please…please…”

                That, of course, was enough for Hank to give up the game. He kissed the man roughly and wrapped his fingers around him hard, consuming the length of him easily in his large fist. Remy yelped and whined and after just a few seconds of the all-consuming sensation he tensed and shouted, Hank’s eyes drinking up the expression of relief and pleasure on his face as he started to drift down from the climax.

                “You are so beau—“

                Remy hushed him by kissing him again and then managed to roll over, sprawling his shaking, sweaty figure over top of McCoy’s impressively muscular one. He grinned down at him, still flushed and panting, eyes seeming to glow.  Beast was entranced, utterly enraptured by him. A fool in love.

                “Well, doctor, I have to say dat dis was a far better night den I had planned. Thank you.”

                “Thank you, my dear. It was…a most pleasurable way to spend an evening.” Hank replied, laughing at little at their sprawled and mussed figures on the rumpled, sex stained sheets. He reached for his glasses, which he had placed on the nightstand, and also glanced at his watch. The hour wasn’t so late yet, but sneaking back into Xavier’s now would no doubt be more of a hassle than it was actually worth.

                He seemed unsure as to how he should inquire of what came next, but Remy quickly gave him his answer. The Cajun laid his head down on Hank’s broad chest, seeming perfectly comfortable there, and pulled one of McCoy’s arms across his naked back.

                “I don’t know about you, M’sieur, but after dat, I need to recharge my batteries. Are you de lie in bed and spoon type, Hank?”

                Hank didn’t reply for several seconds, his voice felt like a thick lump in his throat. Remy lifted his head slightly, shifting his gaze back towards him. “Hank? Did I assume too much?”

                McCoy curled close around him. “Not at all. Go to sleep.”

                Remy sighed and did exactly that, dropping off without hesitation. Hank lingered awhile, watching him sleep, afraid he would wake up and this fantasy would be exactly that. But eventually reality won over his fears. Remy was here, now, and whether or not it felt too incredible to be true, Hank had spent an amazing night with him. What tomorrow morning would bring was still uncertain, but for now, for this moment…Hank was content.

 

**

 

                He woke up far later than usual, for the sun had been up for hours and he had hardly stirred from the bed. The smell of the hotel room, now permeated by his bed partner’s scent and the lingering reminders of their coupling last night clouded his mind. And, much to his surprise, he was already hungry for another go around. Remy was like a new exotic treat that he couldn’t stop craving, and even before he was really fully awake and aware he was already trying to find way to satisfy his hunger for him.

                He rolled in the bed and reached to grab the other man, searching for the long, warm, lean body that had kept him company through the night.

                But the bed was empty.

                Hank came more awake now and sat up, his fur matted and feathered in odd places from sleep, looking rumpled and bleary in the dim light of the hotel room. There was no sign of LeBeau, or his things. The room was empty, except for himself and the quiet of it was lonely and almost overwhelming.

                Hank felt his heart sink deep down in his gut, disappointment appearing sharply at the forefront of his emotional state. He fell back into the pillow with the groan, rubbing his face. He should have expected this. He _had_ expected this. But it still hurt.

                With a heavy sigh, he willed himself to sit up and reached for his glasses again. This time, however, he found something else there. A piece of stationary from the desk, folded neatly on top of Hank’s glasses, so it would be certain to be noticed.

                Beast lifted it quickly, squinting faintly at the words until he placed his spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

                _Hank,_

_Apologizes for leaving without a goodbye, cher. Last night was perfect. Maybe we can meet again sometime?_

                Below here Remy had hastily scrawled a phone number and Hank was quick to memorize the digits. But below this was an added notation, even more hastily scribbled.

                _If you should hear my name around in the next few days, I hope you won’t think less of me. Last nice was chance and fate but it was all genuine. I hope you can say the same._

_~Remy_

 

                Hank stood blinking at the message for a long moment, absorbing it, trying to decode it as if it were some sort of odd cipher. Remy was coy, even teasing, but this was down right cryptic. But even if the note was indeed strange, it was a “to be continued”, rather than a “goodbye, thanks for the memories” and for that he felt relieved and hopeful.

                Gathering himself, he collected his things, showered and returned the key to the front desk. Of course Remy had already taken care of everything and as Hank thanked the concierge at the desk, she suddenly produced an envelope with Hank’s name written on the front, in the same artful yet somehow messy scrawl that he was beginning to recognize as Remy’s handwriting.

                McCoy opened it as he drifted further into the lobby, his golden eyes lighting up when he realized they were a pair of tickets to an exclusive masquerade ball located in New Orleans, set for a few weeks from now. In addition to this there was also a hotel reservation and…

                Hank paused at this last item, eyebrow raised. It was a simple playing card; an ace of hearts.

                Beast chuckled softly at the eccentricity of it, then tucked all the items back into the envelope and placed it securely in his vest pocket as he stepped outside to hail a cab.

               

                A short drive to Westchester later, he was doing the walk of shame up the long drive way to the Xavier School’s front doors, where he did not go unnoticed.

                Logan, otherwise known as Wolverine, was relaxing on the front lawn, attempting to read. Attempting being the operative word, as he was currently being harassed by both Bobby Drake and Jubilation Lee, who had picked a rather poor area to attempt to play Frisbee in.

                As it whizzed over his head, Logan’s claws unsheathed, piercing the brittle plastic, causing the annoying toy to become skewered upon his adamantium claws.

                “Aw Wolvie, come on!” Jubilee whined.

                “I told ya to get that thing outta my face,” he grunted, toss it aside. Naturally it would no longer glide quite as easily, and the girl glared at him.

                But Wolverine ignored the hole she was attempting to burn into his skull with her gaze, as he turned his attentions to Hank. “Coming in a little late aren’t ya, Professor? And on a school night…” he teased with a grin. “Settin’ a bad example for the kiddos.”

                “Your blithe, childish mockery falls upon deaf ears my esteemed companion. No tawdry comment you could possibly supply could dampen my spirits. I’m in far too pleasant a mood.”

                “Logan, he’s talkin’ weird again.” Bobby replied.

                “Don’t worry about it ice-cube,” Wolverine replied, “The grown ups are talking now.”

                “Hey! Don’t treat me like a kid, just cause—“

                “Oh Bobby don’t bother,” Jubilee sighed, taking the blonde’s arm. “They’re gonna talk about weird sex stuff now.”

                “What? Ew! Really?”

                The girl sighed again and tugged him away as Logan gave up at last on his book and followed Hank into the house. “Guess yer date with that reporter went pretty well huh?”

                “Actually, she dumped me. Over text no less.” Hank said, still smiling airily as they drifted through the halls towards his room.

                Logan blinked. “What’s got ya in such a good mood then?”

                “I met someone else.”

                He blinked again, peering a little closer at his companion. Beast grinned at him, “Don’t look so surprised, my friend. I’m more than aware that my appearance and combined social anxiety do not always make me the most sociable creature, but I am rather likeable once you get to know me.”

                “And this ‘someone’ got to know you in just one night?”

                Hank flushed slightly. “Well…yes.”

                Wolverine nodded. “Good for you, McCoy. Always thought it would do ya some good to cut loose once in awhile.”

                “Thank you Logan.”

                They paused at Hank’s door as he fumbled for his room key in his jacket. Logan leaned against the wall, smiling smugly to himself.  “You’re still flustered, and you didn’t even bother to fix your tie. He must have been something, this guy you met.”

                Hank blinked for a moment, surprised at Wolverine’s specific comment, then quickly recalled that Logan’s feral senses were just as advanced, if not more so, than his own. No doubt he could smell Remy’s scent on his fur and on his clothes, even though it had been hours since his departure.

                “He really was,” Hank sighed. “though admittedly, he’s still quite a mystery to me.”

                “That’s what makes relationships fun ain’t it?” Logan replied.

                “I suppose.”

                Hank finally found his key and stepped inside his room, not really that surprised when Logan continued to follow him, though he wasn’t expressly invited.

                “You gonna see him again?”

                “I do hope so.”

                “But nothing for sure?” Wolverine paused. “Wow, you really did hook up with someone, didn’t you? I mean I can smell it all over you, but…I thought maybe it was an old friend or something like that. But this was a stranger. A real stranger. Wasn’t it?”

                “Is that so scandalous?”

                “For you,” Wolverine added. “You sure this guy wasn’t just trying to get something from you?”

                “No. No, it wasn’t like that at all.”

                The short, dark haired mutant rolled his eyes flopped down in one of Hank’s arm chairs, reaching for the remote. “Right, right. Let me guess, this one’s “different” right? Geez, Hank, do I gotta have the talk with ya about being careful around other mutants you don’t know? What if he was some sort of spy?”

                “Logan, your concern is touching, if not a bit misplaced. I think you’re confusing me with one of our students. I’m a grown man. I can handle myself.”

                “I know, Beasty…” Logan sighed. “Just don’t like the idea of some creep trying to take advantage of you.”

                “Remy’s not a creep.”

                Logan looked up with an even bigger smile now, “Ooooh, I see. _Remy’s_ prince charming’s name, is it? Heh. Figures it’d be something French…”

                “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

                “Nothin,” Logan shrugged, flipping through the channels. “Just that you have…tastes, I guess.”

                “Oh come on Wolverine.”

                “You like ‘em exotic. Or at least I’m guessing as much, from what Charles told me about you and Raven back in the day…”

                “Stop…”

                _“And in other news, the NYPD are still baffled after a robbery took place earlier last night of one of New York’s premier opera houses. New York Socialites Margarete Gascon and her husband Bernard claim that they were approached by a man at the theater that night, and the next thing they recalled the show was ending and the 5,000 dollars worth of jewelry that was being worn by Mrs. Gascon was missing, along with Mr. Gascon’s wallet. As of midnight that night, all of the Gascon’s private accounts have been emptied._

_The Gascon’s identified the suspect as one of the Mutant Response Department’s most wanted criminals, a Thief known only as Gambit. The MRD asks that anyone with information on the suspect please call—“_

A picture came up in the corner of the screen, and Hank felt himself go numb all over. Though the clothes were very different, the eyes and the face of the man on the screen were utterly unmistakable. His hand subconsciously reached for the envelope with Remy’s note inside his pocket.

                “Oh my stars and garters…”

                Logan looked from the dashing and dangerous looking man on the screen and then back to Hank slowly. “Oh McCoy…what did you do.”

                “I…I had no idea.”

                “You had no idea.”

                “No…he was so…so charming. So…oh my god.” Hank dropped down on the edge of the bed. “That must have been where he was coming from…he had just robbed those people. Oh my God. Oh my God…”

                “Calm down,” Logan replied, standing up and turning off the television. “So you slept with a wanted criminal. So what? At least it wasn’t Mystique.”

                Hank glared at him.

                “Just sayin’. With her, you never know.”

                “Logan—“

                “What I mean is, it could have been worse. I mean, you have all your pieces in tact right? He didn’t take anything from ya, did he? Didn’t put you under some weird voodoo trance?”

                “What? Heavens no!”

                Wolverine shrugged. “Then what are you worried about? Besides…the people he _wronged_ are pieces of shit—big supporters of Senator Kelly and his campaign to wipe us all off the face of the earth. Your beau just put a biiiig dent in their campaign funds. I’d say you should be proud.”

                Hank didn’t know what to think, he just sat there blinking, vaguely fingering the envelope in his pocket. “I…well…yes I suppose…but that still doesn’t….”

                Wolverine patted his shoulder. “Don’t think about it too hard, McCoy. It’s just your luck I suppose.”

                Hank nodded and pulled out the envelope, drawing out the playing card once more. “Indeed. I suppose it is.”

               

               

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be in my trash can if anyone wants to join me in rare pair/multishipper hell. :D


End file.
